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Been There, Done That, Bought the T-Shirt
By
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th a.m.
NO!
BLANK. BLANK. BLANK.
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?
7:06 a.m. Have calmed down slightly.
Hangover still very much intact... Need Tylenol...
7:45 a.m.- So I'm writing this down, but I have no idea why. It probably won't be there today, when today is tomorrow.
Anyway, I called in sick again... though they don't realize it is again. To them it's the first time. Mitchell said the same thing about getting behind on the month ends. I wanted to cry.
So after much thought, I've come to the conclusion that yes, I must be mental. Found the phone book, flipped to the psychiatrist section, and found one that will fit me in today.
Please let this just be a throwback to all that trippy shit in college.
3:30 p.m.- Am not mental. Shrink is mental.
Bad first impression. Had to wait 45 minutes and then was ushered into her very cramped office. The woman had every self-help book ever published.
The Bhuddist Guide to Oblivion and Back Again, Thirteen Important Steps to Overcoming Obsessive Compulsive Behavior, When Good Girls Go Bad, Be the Best and Still Find Tranquility, How to Heal the Hurt by Hating, these were but a few of the gems lining the floor to ceiling bookshelves that circled the room. Dr. Little introduced herself, offering me her hand. I had to reach down to shake it.
The woman was short, I mean Dr. Ruth, could-have-been-an-extra-in-the-Wizard-of-Oz short, and her eyes were huge, buggy and unblinking, like a frog's. The height factor in itself shouldn't have struck me as funny, but come on, Dr Little? I couldn't help giggling. I was a little on edge and my nerves were, I think understandably, frazzled. She eyed me for a long moment with those reptilian eyes and then motioned for me to sit in one of a pair of leather bucket chairs that were way to close to the ground for my long legs. My knees were practically up under my chin.
"So, what seems to be the problem?" she asked me, settling comfortably into the other chair
So I riff on my problems for awhile, describing all the whacked-out details of my life, trying all the while to keep my voice very low and even so that I didn't sound insane. She nodded and made encouraging noises, then stopped me after I told her about the woman with the soggy Rueben.
"So you have issues with this woman?"
"No," I said. "I have issues with the fact that she's ordered the same sandwich for three days now, only she doesn't know it. She thinks it's just the once."
"Okay... yes... I think I might see a connection here."
I felt a little happy jolt of hope... until she opened her mouth again.
"Does this woman resemble your mother in any way?" she asked me
I didn't like the Freudian spin to that question.
"Look," I said. "I could care less about the woman. I'm more concerned about the fact that it's September 30th for the third time this week."
"And why is that? Does this date in particular have a significance for you? Is it the anniversary of some painful event?"
By this time I was exasperated to a dangerous degree... not good when you consider there was a hangover thrown into the mix. I was starting to think that the problem might not be in my head after all. Maybe a Twilight Zone episode wasn't as farfetched as I'd thought.
"No there isn't a problem with this day," I told her, "other than the fact that I've already experienced it twice. This is what I'm trying to tell you. This day keeps repeating."
The doc, who had been scribbling on her yellow notepad, stopped and placed the tip of her pen to her thin lips, her eyes narrowing as if I had said something very profound.
"Um hmmm... Okay... I hear you... I believe we've hit upon something important here... so what you're saying is you feel trapped by the monotony of your life?"
"Not exactly," I said, becoming increasingly disgusted that I was actually paying $75 an hour to listen to this psychobabble. "Just this one day... That and my girlfriend's cheating on me. It's pretty cut and dried really."
More nodding and pen chewing. "Right. And how does that make you feel?"
I think I sighed and then made up some crap about my mother just to shut her up. I could have watched an episode of Frasier and gotten more out of it. It was one of the longest hours of my life. The good news is, if today repeats again, I'll have my 75 bucks back.
5:30 p.m.- Called Cheryl and told her not to bother calling to cop out. I also hoped she had a nice time with her tall, butch friend wearing the Yankees hat and leather jacket. While she sputtered her denials, I hung up on her. It was very satisfying.
5:37 p.m.- Have decided that while day repeating itself is beyond my control and very disconcerting, it also has definite advantages... ie: finding out the truth about harlot Cheryl. Am not upset. I refuse to be upset.
5:39 p.m. I'm a little upset.
5:40 p.m. Another hole in living room wall. (Note to self: need more spackle)
5:42 pm: Am going to the concert. I WILL see Melissa tonight. Could that break the cycle, maybe? Perhaps I am cosmically bound to see her concert, and through some strange loophole of fate, have somehow broken that bond, and have therefore condemned myself to this cycle of endless September 30th's?
Oh, I need a beer.
11:02 p.m.- I am fated never to hear Melissa sing. I know this now.
I went to the concert and saw the redheaded chick. By now, I feel we have some sort of connection, as if her continued presence in my new reality was somehow significant. I thought maybe I should explore this possibility... maybe she was the key to all this somehow... (plus, she looked really good.) I held on to the ticket and had her follow me to the gate, deftly avoiding the picky ticket-taker even though she held out her hand for my ticket.
'Fool me once, shame on you,' I said to her with a rather mysterious grin and a wiggle of the eyebrows. She just scowled at me as another ticket-taker passed us through the gate.
The little redhead was at my elbow, doggedly sticking by my side this time as we navigated through the crowd to the refreshment stand. She had promised me that beer and I was going to take her up on it tonight for sure.
'So what's your name,' I asked her.
"Ruanne," she said. I liked the way she talked. Her voice was nice, very mellow. And she has this way of crinkling up her nose that was adorable.
At first it was a little awkward. We stood in line together and both of us were just staring at the ground. I stole a few glances at her out of the corner of my eye. She was very pretty. Glossy red hair just barely reached her shoulder blades. Her eyes were sparkly green. Her skin was the kind usually associated with redheads, creamy and pale, almost translucent. It was all very natural, her beauty. She didn't seem to be wearing any makeup at all which I appreciated immensely after hours spent waiting on Cheryl to put on her 'face.' Ruanne was wearing these extremely baggy jean slung low on her trim hips and a cropped shirt that showed every luscious bit of her toned abdomen. It was work holding back all the drool.
"So you're a college student?" I said, really reaching for conversation. "What's your major?"
Lord, the inanities that come out of my mouth sometimes!
She said, "Psychology."
"Oh, really?" I said, thinking she was a vast improvement over frog lady from this afternoon. "Well, that's interesting. You want to be a psychiatrist?"
She nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd in apparent boredom. Then her lackluster gaze suddenly brightened. She threw a hand in the air, waving madly, then smiled. When she turned back to me, she was digging around in her jeans pocket, then pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill and said, "I see someone I know. I'm going to go over and talk to them for a minute. Here..." Hands me the five. "If I don't get back in time, enjoy your beer. Thanks again for the ticket!"
She practically sprinted away. I just stared after her, mouth open. She deserted me! Why? Did I smell bad? I know the conversation wasn't scintillating or anything, but I was just getting warmed up! Where was the gratitude?
I was a little miffed, sure. That's probably why I didn't see it coming. I think I know what's happening to me now. It's some kind of weird glitch with fate, some flaw that I keep perpetuating without knowing it. If I stop doing it, then maybe this day will go away. Anyway, that's my theory after mentally comparing notes with the movie Groundhog Day.
So back to fated stuff. I was standing there, mouth hanging open like an idiot when who should walk into me with a cardboard tray full of beers? Yes, drunk girl and her friends on the way to their seats.
And so, yet again, I was sporting the foam. I didn't yell or curse this time. I didn't even punch the girl, though that was my impulse at the time. I merely stalked off to the ladies restroom.
(Note to self: Always wear leather pants to concert.)
This time I was going to wipe off the foam and enjoy the concert in wet pants. I could survive a little discomfort. I didn't care. I was going to see Melissa if it killed me.
When I got to the ladies, I grabbed a hand full of paper towels and began to dab at the wet spot covering the entire length of me. It was pretty bad.
The femmes threw a few smirks at me and then continued applying more lipstick, (only thirty-nine more coats to go.) I ignored them, backing away slowly.
That's when the door to stall number four opened and its occupant lurched out, staggering forward, looking as green as the lawn above the stadium seats. I was directly in her projectile path. I could see it coming but I couldn't avoid it.
She hurled all over me.
I thought I was going to spew too. The femmes started screaming. The sick person hurled again. It was a total mess. All I could do was stare down at the nauseous chunks now coating my shirt.
I had to go home after that. On the way out, I bought a T-shirt and changed into it in the car.
At least I remembered not to flatten Snowball. I approached the driveway very slowly and spied him lurking in the shadows, waiting to sacrifice himself to my Michelins.
I parked on the curb just to be safe.
And now, after burning my nasty, soiled clothes and showering about six times, I'm definitely ready for bed.
Looking on the positive side, the sick girl was a change. She hadn't been in any of my other todays. Maybe tomorrow will really be tomorrow this time tomorrow.
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th--the sequel... And if this were a Star Wars movie, it would
be Phantom Menace... and I would be that annoying Jar Jar character. Won't continue
with the movie comparisons. That way lies madness.
7:07 a.m- What a shock. Journal page is blank again. Car not on curb, parked in driveway. Vomity clothes clean and folded in closet. Tickets whole. Absence of concert T-shirt duly noted. Evil hangover part of plot somehow. Going back to sleep.
9:50 a.m.- Head feels as if it's about to implode. Didn't call into work. Why bother? Terribly depressed. Going back to bed.
2:12 p.m.- Woke up and watched television. Nothing good on. Watched CNN for awhile. Wonder what is happening in the real now? Perhaps nuclear bomb has gone off throwing time space continuum askew and thus explaining current dilemma?
Don't want to think about that.
Flipped to Star Trek the Next Generation rerun--Picard trapped in another alternate reality. Thought about taking notes. Watched carefully as Picard worked through the problem along with the help of alternate universe Data. Perhaps could get some tips from this.
2:23 p.m.- As have no Data to manipulate ship's computer into altering self's brainwaves, decided it isn't pertinent to my situation and changed to VH1.
2:48 p.m.-Wonder what Cheryl and "friend" are doing? No, best not think about that. Don't care. Relationship is over. Must accept.
2:52 p.m.- Will not call Cheryl. Must concentrate on September 30th problem. Could this be a spiritual issue? I lost religion a long time ago. It couldn't be due to a lack of faith or God punishing me could it? Maybe should consult Bhuddist monk or some such spiritual individual. Checking phone book for listings.
2:55 p.m.- Called Cheryl. Didn't get answering machine. Macho, sexy-voiced girl picked up phone. Hung up on her. Must be the ubiquitous "friend." Rrrrrr.
2:59 p.m.- No monks in phone book
3:02 p.m.- Will not go see Cheryl. Will try meditation.
3:19 p.m.- Fell asleep meditating. Am going to see Cheryl and have it out.
6:00 p.m.- This afternoon's Cheryl debacle has taught me a lesson. Will never again rely on another human being to solve problems or seek comfort. Went to her apartment. Didn't do a stakeout like last time. I wanted real confrontation. A strange woman answered the door. I greeted her by name, which seemed to surprise the woman. Lillith... strange name for one so bicepy... I would think she should have a nickname like "Skip" or something equally as gender-bendy. Fortunately for me, Lillith doesn't remember the second to last September 30th when I peeled out of the parking lot shouting obscenities at her and Cheryl.
Cheryl emerged from the bedroom, clipping an earring to her ear. She saw me and then dropped the earring. It took just a second for her to recover her poise, but that initial surprise confirmed everything I had already assumed.
"Natalie, baby, why aren't you at work?" she asked me trying to sound all concerned and innocent. (Hah!)
Lillith drew her bushy eyebrows together and frowned. "Baby?"
Cheryl, professional that she is, smoothly ignored this and continued working me. "Have you met Lillith? She's a carpenter. She's building some shelves for me."
Standing in the middle of Cheryl's living room, (it has a zebra theme that I've never understood) with no shelf-building anywhere in evidence, I had a moment of epiphany.
Lillith crowded closer to Cheryl, trying to put her arm around Cheryl's waist. Cheryl was having none of it, her smile firmly fixed and directed at me. Usually when she smiled at me like that, I melted. Today, it didn't move me at all. I realized that Cheryl meant nothing to me. I didn't love her.
I think it must be congenitally impossible for me to love a woman who never wanted to do anything fun for fear of breaking a nail, who thought camping was for cavemen, who hated sports of any kind. In short, someone as overtly femme as she so obviously was. I just hadn't realized it until then.
"Right," I said to Cheryl, as she brushed Lillith's hand away for the tenth time. "I'm sure that's not all she's doing for you. Goodbye, Cheryl."
I turned to leave, slamming the door behind me. Cheryl ran out after me, begging me to listen as I stomped toward my car. I must say, I'm very proud of my behavior for once. I was a rock. I was a brick wall. I didn't let any of her soft pleadings sway me. I didn't let the sight of her prominent cleavage change my mind. Not even when her glossy, cherry-red lips whispered in my ear that she loved me did I fold.
Not another word was said. I peeled out of the parking lot for the second time, only now I had a sense of justice, of contentment that I hadn't possessed before.
It's now 6:22. Have to get ready. Going to the concert again. Persistence pays off... at least that's what I'm hoping.
11:36 p.m.- I have TRIUMPHED! Saw Melissa! She was fucking excellent!
Reasons why today will not repeat.
*Breakthrough with Cheryl--surely that gains me some karmic bonus points?
*Avoided humiliating incident with redheaded Ruanne--just walked on by when
she asked me for ticket... don't need that kind of involvement anyway. Am free
spirit, lone wolf type character now...
*Went the whole night without projectile vomiting or beer spillage (Wore leather
pants... just in case.)
*Snowball lives
*Most importantly--SAW MELISSA! Woohoo! Finally! - this must mean I'm worthy
to proceed onto tomorrow, right? I have been blessed...
Going to bed now--(wearing my Melissa concert T-shirt, just to keep it from disappearing)-- fully confident that I will wake up hangover free in October.
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th
7:03 a.m.- Apparently, I'm not worthy of October. Melissa was not the key to tomorrow. T-shirt gone. Journal entry gone. Same shit. Same day. Going back to bed.
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th
6:07 a.m.- Think I slept the whole day through. Can't know for sure.
9:48 a.m.- Bored. Bored. Bored. Starting to wonder what Cheryl is doing. This is not good.
12:50 p.m.- Have a plan. Going to concert tonight.
11:14 p.m.- Mission accomplished! Survey says-- Ruanne Davidson. Graduate student... Psych major... Likes rock-climbing, skiing, surfing, and snowboarding... Hates pushy people, smokers, and Freud. Is the middle child of 6... 2 brothers, 3 sisters... Wants to work with disabled children... drinks Margaritas when it's hot & Jack and coke when it's cold. Loves cats, (has two... Parker and Posey...) Thai food, and dancing... (Must memorize this stuff for tomorrow... er... today)
I am so IN! Spent the concert doing research... (brought clipboard to look official) Told Ruanne she could have ticket if she participated in marketing survey. She agreed. (She's so gorgeous! & also very sweet... could be THE ONE!) She looked at me funny when I asked her about romantic history... (two girlfriends... one boyfriend in high school) ... but she answered anyway.
Have all the ammo I will need... No more embarrassing, awkward silences...
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th
11:12 p.m.- Plan worked like a charm. So why do I feel like dirt? No, less than dirt. Like worm that lives under dirt or some such slimy thing.
Arrived at concert early. Was extremely nervous, but had my plan in mind, well rehearsed. I targeted her, approaching casually, as if just ambling inside and had no idea she was there... very smooth. Passed her, then did a double take and turned around, looking her in the eyes questioningly.
"Ruanne?" I said, like I wasn't sure. "Ruanne Davidson?"
She kind of tilted her head and nodded. It was the only opening I needed.
"I thought it was you. It's Natalie... Natalie Rayburn. We met on that ski trip to Steamboat Springs last year."
She still looked perplexed but she smiled and said, "Right. Right. Wow. Natalie. It's been a long time."
I could see she was trying to plumb her memory to see if there was something significant about me she ought to remember. I prompted her... it was all part of the plan.
"I didn't know you lived here. That's pretty funny. Have you lived here long?"
This was something she could answer. "No, just for the last year. I transferred in. I'll be graduating soon."
"Psychology, right? I seem to recall you were involved in a study of the effects of light deprivation on autistic children... or something like that."
She nodded again, looking quite amazed. "That's some memory you've got
there."
I asked her about the study and she happily filled me in on all the clinical
details. About ten minutes into a very dry Jungian anecdote, I interrupted and
offered her the spare ticket. She happily accepted, continuing her story as
we passed through the gates. I offered a beer.
"It's not jack and coke or a margarita, but I'll buy you the best cheap beer they've got."
She laughed and said, "It's on me. It's the least I can do."
We got in line and I deftly led her into a conversation on rock climbing (though I've never been rock-climbing and am deathly afraid of heights.) She told me in expansive detail about her climbing exploits and then about her passion for surfing. About fifteen minutes into it, I realized I'd made a grave error.
I'd won my prize but now I didn't want it. No matter how cute she was it didn't change the fact that I was bored out of my mind. This girl and I had zero in common. She was gorgeous, sure, but there was no spark. I had to fight to keep my mind from wandering while she talked. This wasn't part of the plan. She was supposed to be the one.
After the concert started, things got a little more relaxed. We found our seats (after the drunk pack had found theirs... I timed it specially.) The music was good. Ruanne had a great time. But I had already seen it... no thrill there. Again, my attention wandered.
After the concert, she asked me for my phone number. I only gave it to her because I knew in the morning, she wouldn't remember it or me.
I came home alone, though she hinted she would like to spend more time with me.
I don't know what's wrong with me. The dog in me should have been wagging its tale at such a juicy bone. Maybe it's just too soon after Cheryl. That's it. I just need more time.
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th
10:00 a.m.- Woke up this morning and decided I needed to do something drastic. Maybe exploring different time zone will break the spell somehow? Have decided to fly to Paris. Always wanted to see Eiffel Tower. Maxed out credit cards reserving plane tickets and posh hotel suite. Determined to make the most out of this hell... even with everlasting hangover.
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th
7:00 a.m.- I CAN'T WIN!
Fell asleep on plane. Woke up at home in own bed.
JOURNAL ENTRY
September 30th
Not going to write in this stupid journal anymore. What's the point?
To be continued...